


Make Haste

by Hambone



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Being Bad at Sex, M/M, Sticky Sex, creepiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:07:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blurr was never very good at these things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Haste

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic I'm posting to get acclimated to this site.

“It’s alright, Agent Blurr,” Longarm smiled, rolling onto his back on the desk. Blurr pressed against his lower abdomen, thighs just holding back enough to keep their interface panels apart. It made the situation almost more unbearable, heat quickly building between them teasing at their seams. 

His boss had always been kind. A bit quick at times, even flippant, but never harsh or rude. He was loose with praise, always understanding of the needs of the agents under his command. 

A little too understanding, perhaps.

“Are-you-absolutely-positive-Sir?” Blurr’s little servos traced the lines on Longarm’s thick waist, pausing only to tremble at intersections in the mesh. Longarm’s secondary T-cogs whirred loudly and his arms extended. His hands cupped Blurr’s svelte hips, servos threading between each other at his back. 

“My office is not under surveillance, and my office has triple code locks.” Blurr’s ventilations hitched and stalled as he looked up at the door, almost as if he could see the digital mechanisms holding it in place. Swallowing loudly, he pulled himself forward until the lower half of their components met and then held them there. 

“Sir,” he breathed again, “Sir.”

Longarm retracted his interface panel. Blurr could feel the movement against his own, intimately. Looking back down, he pressed his lips to the center of Longarm’s chest, directly onto the Autobot insignia, and allowed himself to open in response. His spike, trapped, curved hard against his stomach. Longarm swirled a thumb against Blurr’s hip, dipping into the mesh, tracing wiring, all smiles. 

Given their size disparity, it was unlikely that Longarm would need preparation. Still, Blurr hesitated as he lined himself up with his superior’s valve. From that distance he could feel the heat, and quivered from the exertion of holding back, unused to the necessity. But he needed validation.

 Longarm sat up on his elbows.

“You have my permission to proceed,” he said, and it was the bemused tint in his voice that shook Blurr from his stupor, feeling teased. With new determination he thrust in, fast. Then he had to stop because he had hastened too much, and the feeling was too much, and Longarm’s soft little grunt of approval was far, far too much-

Longarm pressed his hips upward, valve flexing almost curiously around him. 

“Come on.” 

Blurr drew his hips back out, shaking, into the cold of the room and away from his warm boss. His first thrusts were awkward and not well timed. It was amazing, to be in this moment, with Longarm Prime’s legs spread around him and his thick servos around his waist, encouraging.

Amazing, but also terrifying. Blurr panted in wet embarrassment, recognizing his own mistakes even as he made them. The victim of a glitched timing program, his biggest strength was also his weakness. Experience taught him to pace himself, that he needed to be slower and gentler and not move the way his body was constantly telling him to. But concentrating on a strict rhythm while simultaneously concentrating on slowing his motors was hard, made harder by the relentless, confused error messages popping up in his processor, _faster, faster, faster_.  

“Faster.”

Blurr almost sobbed with relief, pressing his faceplates into Longarm’s chest to hide his expression and complied. His engines revved, smoothing into a purr as his increased speed returned internal mechanisms to their usual modus operandi. Longarm bounced slightly, the data pads on his desk falling into disarray. Clinging to his thighs, Blurr pulled them together more tightly.

“You’ve not had very much experience doing this before, have you?” A hand cupped his face and forced him to look up. Unable to stop his movements, Blurr struggled to focus on what was said to him. He heated with shame. 

“That’s alright.”

 Longarm’s smile was genuine, but his optics were strangely dull.

 “You’re doing very well.”

“Thank-you-Sir-thank-you, I-Iahh-ahh-” Blurr felt ashamed all over again, because he could hardly form a full sentence while Longarm gazed coolly down at him, the picture of serenity itself. He felt, for the first time in a long time, distinctly inexperienced. They did not work in the same field; though he had the utmost respect for Longarm’s authority over him, as well as the sparkfelt tug of his own personal admirations, he had never been made to feel as outclassed as he did at the moment, with his superior so calm and kind it was almost _mocking_.

“You always do so well for me, don’t you?” Longarm stroked the side of his helm, and errant servo sliding behind Blurr’s neck as he cooed. Blurr strained into the touch, gasping brokenly.

“Such a good little Autobot.” The strangeness of the words only lingered with him for a moment, before Longarm’s valve contracted particularly hard and his processor exploded into a static mess. 

“Suh-Sir-!” 

Longarm’s thighs squeezed around him.

“Always so loyal.”

There was no way that Blurr was going an appropriate speed for this anymore, because it felt wrong even for him, but he couldn’t stop. Longarm said nothing about it, somehow managing to keep up. He just kept smiling. His optics looked almost vacant. 

Curling his servos against Blurr’s face, Longarm gasped quietly. His valve shuddered tightly and Blurr cried out, flying into overload. 

Such was his momentum that he was unable to still his hips frantic movements until the last aftershocks had run their course. He wanted to pass out, but in a shock of insecurity he realized he had no idea whether Longarm had overloaded or not. Looking up at his superior, Blurr’s optics widened, studying his face for any sign of disproval as he tried to formulate an apology. 

The words died in his mouth.

Longarm Prime looked at him with silent affection. Neither his expression, nor posture, or even the tightness of his valve gave away his condition, but he looked inexplicably, truthfully happy. His servos ghosted the back of Blurr’s neck, sending electrical prickles through the sensors there. 

“Very good, Blurr. Very good.”


End file.
